


The Grangers

by ProgramasaurusRex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProgramasaurusRex/pseuds/ProgramasaurusRex
Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Granger discover that their daughter is a witch. The next seven years are a very strange time for the Granger family.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 23





	1. June 1991

It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon, and an old Scottish woman in a velvet cloak had just invited herself into Rosemary Granger's house and informed her that her daughter Hermione was a witch.

"I'm quite certain," said the woman, who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. "Your daughter's name has been recorded by the enchanted quill that keeps track of all magical children."

Rosemary was puzzled at first. The woman looked perfectly sane and sober, from her black leather handbag to her stern expression. She was just saying some very odd things. She handed Hermione a letter, written on old fashioned parchment.

"Witches aren't real," said Hermione, taking the letter. Rosemary decided she needed to have a talk with her daughter about manners and the mentally ill on some later occasion. But, well, she was right. Witches weren't real, not in this household.

Then, Rosemary remembered seeing an ad in a parenting newsletter a few weeks ago. For a small fee, you could hire a girl from a local agency to come to your house dressed as a fairy princess and entertain your young children for an hour or so. That must be it. This woman had been hired to play at witches by some family near here, and she had gotten the wrong house. She ought to realize Hermione was rather old for such things, but her daughter was short for her age, and she supposed the woman had gotten caught up in her acting.

Rosemary was trying to think of a way to discreetly alert the woman of her mistake, when the woman abruptly pulled out a big wooden knitting needle and turned the coffee table into a horse.

This wasn't happening.

But half an hour later, she had made Professor McGonagall a cup of tea and it was still, somehow, happening. It was weird enough when Professor McGonagall did her astonishing tricks, but soon she had Hermione doing magic, too. Hermione, her stringently serious daughter, the girl who had refused to finish Alice's Adventures in Wonderland at the age of five because it was too absurd, was shooting sparks of colour into the air out of Professor McGonagall's wand and shouting, "Mum, I can feel it, it's coming from inside of me!"

Rosemary took her husband Donald's hand. She had no history of mental illness in her family. Her husband had no history of mental illness in his family. They were dentists, for heaven's sake. Perhaps a carbon monoxide leak?

Or perhaps ... perhaps the laws of physics she knew had been oversimplified.

The woman brought up a magical boarding school. It seemed she was the deputy headmistress. Dazed, Donald replied that their daughter was all set to attend Rudge Park in the fall, and they'd already put down a deposit on the tuition.

The woman sighed like she did this all the time. "It will take some time for you all to process this news. You are likely in shock now. I've brought you a book to help explain the details, and a brochure about Hogwarts. I also have an invitation from Maureen Dearborn, a local volunteer, to a dinner for the families of prospective students from non-magical homes. It is next Friday, in London, and I hope you will attend."

Professor McGonagall stood up. "Well, I must be on my way. Good day."

Rosemary stared at the book.

"Donald," she said, "did any of that just happen?"

Donald pulled on his sleeve. "I think so," he said. "I was just about to ask you if you thought the demonstration you just saw was quite real."

"Oh, it was, Dad, it was!" Hermione said eagerly. "I can't explain how I feel just now properly. But I know she was telling the truth. Oh, Mum, Dad, can't I go to Hogwarts?"

Rosemary looked at her daughter. "Hermione, dear, even if all of this about magic is true, it's a big decision, choosing a secondary school. We need to look into what sort of careers you could do with a magical education. I think your father and I will need to have a look at this book first."

Donald picked up the brochure, which was, distractingly, full of moving pictures. "Your mother's right," he said. "It all sounds wonderful, but we need to look into the curriculum, see if they're accredited, if they've got a proper maths department and such. But we can certainly attend this dinner on Friday and learn more."

Hermione looked desperate. "But ... but it's magic! What could be better for my future than magic! I could just make money appear if I needed it."

Donald patted her on the head. "Futures are complicated things," he said.

"But Dad, I'd be with ..." Hermione hesitated. "I'd be with boys and girls who were like me. I'd have, you know ... friends."

Rosemary folded her arms sadly. She worried about her daughter's social life, of course she did. But would a magical boarding school be a help or an obstacle in that respect?

Of course they read the book right away, up in their bedroom, Donald reading over Rosemary's shoulder like they used to do when they were students devouring a new find from the secondhand book shop. From time to time they stopped to talk over a particularly interesting passage.

"Well, that answers my first question, about why we've never heard about these wizards," said Rosemary. "They sounds very isolationist. Imagine them all having such useful skills and making it illegal to tell anybody!"

"Such a waste," Donald agreed. "If they came out of hiding, they'd make pots of money. There's magical medicine, look, they can instantly mend broken bones! And magical construction. Maybe we should send her ..."

"But she couldn't just go around doing magic for anyone she liked," Rosemary pointed out. "If she went to this school, she'd have to live in that world for the rest of her life, essentially. All the jobs she could do are there, all her school friends would be there ... She'd never be able to get a normal job if she decided she didn't like it."

"So say she doesn't go, she'd never be able to get a magical job then," said Donald. "I think we'd better give this some more thought. Surely we'll be able to visit this Hogwarts, don't you think?"

They resolved to ask on Friday. The next day, they got up and tried to go to work and do normal things, but they were all very distracted.

When the Grangers returned home on Monday evening, Rosemary had a look at the papers Professor McGonagall had left. The invitation listed a telephone number by which to RSVP. Rosemary decided to call the number.

"Hello," said a very soothing voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello," said Rosemary. "I'm Rosemary Granger. I'm looking for a Maureen Dearborn?"

"Yes, I'm Maureen," said Maureen.

"I was invited to an informational evening on Friday at your home, concerning my daughter's education," said Rosemary carefully.

"Oh, yes," said Maureen brightly. "I bet you're feeling a bit muddled right now."

"Er, quite," Rosemary agreed. "Are you ..."

"Am I a witch? No," Maureen giggled. "But most of my family is. I have six children, five of them magical, two at Hogwarts and two graduated from Hogwarts. So you see, I'm rather an ideal candidate to explain your options, having been in your position ten years ago. Professor McGonagall's a dear, but rather forbidding, isn't she?"

Rosemary counted on her fingers. "So you have six children, two at Hogwarts, two grown up wizards, one who isn't magical, and ... "

"My oldest son is magical, but did not attend Hogwarts," said Maureen, her pleasant telephone voice slipping for a moment. "But I'm sure you'll hear more about that on Friday. Will you be in attendance then?"

"Yes," said Rosemary. "Along with my husband, Donald, and my daughter, Hermione."

"Excellent," said Maureen. "I look forward to meeting you all then. I'm making a fondue."

"Lovely. Well, see you then," said Rosemary.

She hung up the phone and turned to Donald, her heart fluttering. Something about the brief conversation had knocked something loose in her brain. "Donald," she said. "I think this is real."

Donald took her hand. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it must be."


	2. The Dearborns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grangers meet the Dearborn family and learn more about the wizarding world

A surly looking young man of about twenty-one answered the door to the Dearborn home. He was wearing a stick-on name badge that read 'John Dearborn (the one who didn't go to Hogwarts)'

"Hello," he said. "Names?"

"Er, we're the Grangers," said Rosemary.

"Excellent, you're the last ones we're expecting," said John.

A blonde girl about Hermione's age approached John and handed him a plate of food. She was wearing a name badge that read 'Jessica Dearborn (the muggle one)'. "Mum wants you," she said to John.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," said Hermione, extending her hand politely to Jessica.

Jessica, like her older brother, did not seem to want to be there. "Hello," she said dully, shaking Hermione's hand.

Rosemary could see there was some tension in the Dearborn family. She placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, dearly hoping her daughter didn't say something insensitive. "Come along, Hermione," she said.

They entered a large kitchen and dining area filled to the brim with parents and children. None of the others seemed to be wearing name badges. Rosemary felt a twinge of sympathy for John and Jessica. Perhaps they had made the badges simply because they were tired of people asking. The Grangers made their way to the counter and fixed themselves plates of vegetables.

The conversation in the room was excited but anxious.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," said Hermione to a boy standing with his parents.

"I'm Dean Thomas," said Dean. "What do you reckon about all this wizard business? Been to Diagon Alley yet?"

"No," said Hermione. "It sounds brilliant though. Do you think you're going to attend then?"

"Of course," said Dean. "How could anyone not want to be magic?"

"That John Dearborn didn't," said Hermione. "I wonder why not. Do you think he'd tell us if we asked?"

"Hermione, please don't ask that poor young man any impertinent questions," said Donald. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

Dean and Hermione went to talk to a teenage boy wearing a black robe that had to be the school uniform, probably another Dearborn. Dean's mother held out her hand to Rosemary. "Jennifer Thomas," she said.

"Rosemary Granger," said Rosemary. "So you really think ... you don't have any worries about Hogwarts?"

Jennifer frowned. "It seems like a good opportunity, don't you think? Developing a skill that hardly anyone else has? Like having a child that's an acting prodigy, there's a window of opportunity that closes. Of course, if he doesn't like it after the first year ..."

"Of course," said Rosemary.

Jennifer beamed fondly. "Once you see Diagon Alley, you'll understand. It's the most astounding place I've ever seen. If there's a place for Dean in that world, I couldn't possibly keep him at home."

Eventually, the host and hostess called for everyone's attention from the living room.

"Hello, I'm Maureen Dearborn," said Maureen. "If you could all gather around the overhead projector, we have a bit of a presentation prepared."

The crowd filtered into the living room.

Maureen clapped her hands and cleared her throat. "So," she said. "The bottom line is, your children are wizards and witches. That's true whether they attend Hogwarts or not. They will always be able to do magic, and they've got to be educated at least a bit, or they'll keep doing it by accident. There have been some truly troubling cases of teenagers who didn't receive any training, and ended up doing an injury to someone."

Rosemary shivered. She hadn't realized there might be consequences to missing out on a magical education other than the lack of that education itself.

"The best place around is of course Hogwarts," said Maureen. "I have sent several children to Hogwarts myself. There are no school fees, as it's all handled by the magical government, just the books and supplies to get. If you need help with those, let me know later and I'll give you information about the special assistance fund. If you choose not to send your children to Hogwarts, my son John will explain at the end about an extracurricular course of magic with which he is affiliated."

Maureen proceeded to show a slideshow of moving images. Happy Dearborn children waved from in front of a beautiful stone castle by a lake. Succeeding images showed the children and their friends performing magic spells, riding on broomsticks, and playing chess in lavish, velvet-decked living quarters. It was a boarding school of a style that Rosemary hadn't realized existed anymore.

The Dearborns stood by their mother, explaining the images in turn. "That's my friends and me at graduation, we nearly slept through it after staying up all night studying for exams --" "Oooh, that must have been second year, that was when Slytherin won the Quidditch cup, we celebrated for days --" "I'd forgotten how stupid Chloe's dress robes looked, she really ought to have asked a pureblood before going shopping --" This last one earned Adam Dearborn a playful smack from his sister.

"You may be wondering about careers," said Maureen. "My daughter Chloe graduated from Hogwarts two years ago, and she is now an apprentice healer at St. Mungo's Hospital. My son Adam just graduated a few months ago, and he is a sort of product engineer for the Nimbus company, which makes broomsticks, and which I'm sure you'll all be hearing about around Christmas time."

Rosemary smiled. Clearly these children had loved Hogwarts, and the older ones seemed to have found good jobs, apparently without any post secondary education. Still, she wondered about the other two. John had nodded good naturedly through the slide show, but Jessica looked about ready to cry. It must be difficult watching all of her older siblings enjoy the magical world and knowing she couldn't take part.

Finally, Maureen ceded the stage to her eldest son.

"Hello," he said. "You're probably wondering why I didn't go to Hogwarts, if it was so great. Well, I'll tell you. In July of 1981, Professor McGonagall came to visit me, as she has visited many of you. But her message was not entirely happy. You see, a wizard terrorist had randomly taken over the magical government and was rounding up muggle born children like myself to torture and kill. Yes, you heard that right, only ten years ago, the so called Ministry of Magic was toppled by an extremist gang with wands. By the way, many wizards still hate anyone who doesn't have pure wizard blood, so that's all of you. I never attended Hogwarts, I had lessons once a week from the Manticore Society, now I'm an an electrical engineer, the end."

Maureen blushed. "My son neglected to mention that the terrorist in question was defeated ten years ago and has not been heard from since. Nevertheless, if for any reason you do not wish to send your child to Hogwarts, John will be able to fill you in on the Manticore Society and the great work it does."

Rosemary looked at Donald. His horrified face matched her own.


	3. Diagon Alley

Rosemary and Donald had been talking about this visit to Diagon Alley for days. At first, Rosemary hadn't even wanted to go. She was sure the Thomases were right, that once they saw the place, they'd be hooked, unable to say no to a Hogwarts education. Donald had persuaded her that they had to get Hermione magical school supplies either way (the Manticore Society required more or less the same ones), and that they'd surely have to see the place sooner or later. She suspected that Donald was simply mad with curiosity himself. Not that she wasn't. But was it worth putting Hermione in danger?

"We need to get some firsthand experience," Donald had said. "See what the culture is like for ourselves."

"If even one of those wizards calls Hermione a ... a racial name, or anything like that, then we won't send her," Rosemary vowed. "I'd like to find out something about this Ministry of Magic as well. Toppled by a band of warlords!"

"It can't be a full government," Donald had reasoned. "Geographically, it's still the United Kingdom. And we did the math, they haven't got enough people for a real government. It sounds more like a subculture, or a religion. Like how the Catholics have their pope, but they're still British."

"The Catholics don't have terrorists," Rosemary pointed out.

"I will refrain from making a political comment about Ireland," Donald had countered. "Look, as long as this Lord Voldemort isn't around now, it doesn't sound like much of an issue. Even if there is ... prejudice ... why should our Hermione cower from it? That's what bigoted people want, to exclude and spread fear. She's more than a match for it. If anything I'm afraid of what she'll do to the wizards!"

So here they were, walking through a seedy old pub to an alley. These wizards certainly had a flair for the dramatic, or the macabre.

And then the brick archway opened.

It really was like stepping into a storybook. The place reminded Rosemary of a town near the Forests of Dean where they'd bought supplies on vacation once. But everywhere, magic. Shopkeepers vanishing spills and messes with a wave of their wands. People appearing out of thin air. Robes that changed colors every few seconds. Dolls that danced in the palms of little girls. She hadn't given much thought to magical product engineering, but now she was surrounded by evidence of it. The place might be aesthetically old fashioned, but the technology was positively utopian. So many tiny everyday problems simply didn't exist here. It appeared to be a life free of mundane labor of any kind.

They headed for the bank. It was full of very small men. Goblins, she remembered. But why did they all seem to work in the same place? Was there some sort of racial caste system here?

"Hello, I'm Donald Granger," said Donald. "My daughter is a wizard. We'd like to open an account, please, but we haven't got any wizard money yet."

"Fine," said the goblin. "I suppose you've brought paper money?"

Donald eyed the brass scales on the counter in front of him. "How much paper money can one safely carry these days? Then you can't do a wire transfer from my main account? I have my routing number here, and my cheque book. Or if you insist on cash, I suppose you have an ATM."

The goblin smiled a thin lipped smile. "Cash only for the currency exchange," he said. "I can change whatever you have on you, and then I can take you down to your new vault in the cart, so you can deposit your gold."

"Good heavens," said Donald softly. "Did you say cart?"

"At least they don't have to worry about runs on the bank," Rosemary said sardonically. "Here, I've got a couple hundred quid, that should take care of school supplies for today. We'll worry about a savings account later."

The goblin handed her a small sack full of large gold coins. "We look forward to doing business with you in the future."

"I don't understand it," Donald was still saying half an hour later. "How do they handle large purchases? Investment? They just carry it around in sacks? Gold is so heavy, though!"

"I think it's lovely," said Hermione, examining a galleon. "It's much prettier than our money."

First, they took Hermione to the wand shop. The Dearborns had let the children practice a bit with their wands, and had taught them a spell for creating light, but they'd all agreed that having your own personal wand was important.

"Good day," said a small elderly man as they entered the shop. "Muggles, are you?"

Rosemary's smile tightened. "Yes. Our daughter is here looking for her first wand."

"Of course," said Mr. Ollivander. "Let me just take her measurements."

Donald nodded encouragingly at Rosemary. This man didn't seem bothered to meet muggles.

"I suppose you know a lot about magic," said Rosemary.

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Ollivander. "I sell almost all of the wands used at Hogwarts. The type of wand has quite a demonstrable effect on the results achieved. For instance, it's nearly impossible to perform serious Dark magic with a unicorn cored wand. Unicorns are too innocent."

"Dark magic?" Donald said nervously. "How common would you say that is?"

Mr. Ollivander met his gaze steadily. "How common would you say murder, theft, arson, counterfeiting, and other unsavory crimes are in your world?"

Donald had to admit that they happened nearly every day.

Mr. Ollivander smiled grimly. "People are the same everywhere. Only the tools they use are different."

Hermione waved first one wand, then another. She looked the way she always looked trying to do mathematics problems that were too difficult for her. Rosemary could tell right away when she had found the right one by the way her daughter's eyes lit up.

"Vine wood and dragon heartstring," Mr. Ollivander announced. "Yes, yes, quite nice."

Bother, thought Rosemary as they headed to the bookstore. Bewildering as the magical world was, she knew in her heart that it was too late to turn back.


	4. First Year

They dropped her off at King's Cross on September 1st. One of the brochures they had read had warned them that they wouldn't be able to get onto the train platform with Hermione, so they gave her their hugs and kisses beforehand. Smiling bravely, their only daughter wheeled her trolley toward the barrier and into another world, where they could not follow.

Two weeks later, they sat in the lounge, reading over yet another long roll of parchment.

"She's sending us too many letters," said Rosemary. "I don't like it."

"Nonsense, how could there be such a thing as too many letters from our daughter?" asked Donald.

"A young girl away at school for the first time, she ought to be far too busy to remember to write to her parents," said Rosemary.

Donald knew perfectly well what she meant. For although Hermione's letters had described professors and spells, history and architecture, books and meals, she had barely said a word about her classmates.

"So she's a bit homesick. She seems to be coping with her schoolwork, at least, getting good marks," said Donald.

"Well of course she is, she's a Granger," said Rosemary. "Her roommates both come from wizard families; do you think that's why they aren't getting on?"

Donald put down his cup of tea. "Rosie, she's like us. Do you remember being like us and being eleven? Yes, she's taking a bit of time to settle in and make friends, probably reading a lot of books. There isn't much we can do about that. She'll grow into herself eventually."

Rosemary frowned. "I had hoped she'd have it easier than we did."

Donald said, "She does. She has us to support her. How about this, let's send her something nice for her birthday that she could share with the other girls. A game, or something. What do girls that age like?"

"It has to be something that isn't powered by electricity or batteries," Rosemary remembered. "Legos? You can play with them by yourself or with friends."

They sent her a box of Legos. Hopefully, witches and wizards played with Legos, too.

In November, Hermione finally sent them a photograph of herself with two friends: a laughing ginger boy and a skinny boy who looked like he needed his hair combed.

"Isn't that nice," said Rosemary.

"Boys?" asked Donald. "She's made friends with two boys?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Rosemary told him. "Friends are friends."

Finally, Christmas came. Rosemary had spent days decorating the house, putting up box after box of lights and setting out nice smelling candles. When they picked up Hermione at the train station, she looked radiant.

"Mum! Dad!" she shouted, running up and hugging them with an uncharacteristic lack of dignity. "Oh, I have so much to tell you!"

She chattered all the way home. Hogwarts was wonderful. Magic was infinitely interesting. Ron and Harry were very nice boys; Ron came from a large wizard family, but Harry was an orphan who lived with his muggle aunt. Classes were going well, although she couldn't show them any spells due to school rules. But magical items were allowed, so she'd brought home several potions that she'd made in class to show them.

"This one's for teeth, look," she said.

Donald squinted critically at the colorful liquid. "Is it quite safe?"

"Yes, in fact there's a spell to shrink teeth, too. I might get it done on my front teeth when I'm older," Hermione said.

Rosemary and Donald shared a look. "Well," said Rosemary, "you can do what you like when you're eighteen, but for now, I don't think magic and teeth ought to mix."

Rosemary did drink a bit of the potion, just to make Hermione happy. To her surprise, her mouth immediately felt cleaner than it ever had in her life, her enamel stronger. After checking them in the mirror, she found them noticeably whiter, too. She stared at the vial in shock. If they had potions like this for every ailment, potions that a beginner could make, and muggles could take them, too ... the economic and ethical implications were staggering.

"You said you made this?" she asked.

Hermione nodded happily. "Only witches and wizards can make potions, I'm afraid. This one cures boils, and this one makes you forgetful."

"Forgetful?" asked Donald in alarm. "Why would anyone want a potion that made them forgetful? We muggles have plenty of substances that do that already. You didn't drink any, did you?"

"Of course, we always have to test the potions we make," she said.

"On yourselves? What if you've made them wrong?" Donald asked anxiously.

"Then we go to the hospital wing," Hermione said. "But I haven't been there yet. Madam Pomfrey can fix anything, though, so I'm sure she could put us right if we drank a bad potion. People at school have some funny accidents, but nobody ever dies or anything."

Rosemary and Donald exchanged another look. Rosemary made a mental note to ask Maureen about the safety standards at Hogwarts the next time they spoke.

"By the way, do you know who Nicolas Flamel is?" Hermione asked.

"Alchemist from the middle ages," said Donald.

"That's not him then," said Hermione. "I'm looking for someone who's alive today."

"Why?" asked Rosemary.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, no reason, it's not important."

Rosemary pursed her lips. Hermione didn't usually keep secrets from them. But she supposed that, too, was a part of growing up.

She came home for the summer in June, a bit more subdued but still happy. Her friend Ron's parents had invited them to meet up in Diagon Alley to shop for school supplies later in the summer. Rosemary looked forward to the opportunity to talk to adult pureblood wizards; she had a lot of questions for them.

The second day of holidays, she got a call from Maureen.

"I heard your daughter had something to do with stopping Lord Voldemort from returning," she said. "You must be so pleased!"

A chill ran through Rosemary. "Lord Voldemort?" she repeated. "But he's dead, isn't he? Unless it's a hereditary title?"

"No, it's the same one," said Maureen. "It was Hermione and two boys, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

"But you said he was defeated ten years ago!" yelled Rosemary.

"I said defeated, not dead," said Maureen nervously. "They never found a body. It turns out he was possessing a teacher, I think, and the teacher died, but Voldemort's still out there, probably trying to find somebody else to possess."

"But what has that to do with my daughter?" asked Rosemary breathlessly.

"Well, she's friends with Harry Potter, isn't she? Harry was the one who defeated Lord Voldemort as a baby, when his parents were killed. Harry and Hermione and another first year found out there was a Philosopher's Stone hidden in the school, so they went to stop Lord Voldemort from stealing it. Michael and Lucy just told me all about it."

"What?" Rosemary gasped.

"Oh, don't worry, everyone's fine," Maureen assured her. "These things happen in the wizarding world, you know; it's a bit wild there. Sometimes the children don't like to tell us what's going on, because they don't think we'll understand. You must be firm with your daughter, Rosemary; let her know you want the whole story."

Rosemary hung up. "Hermione!" she bellowed. "Get down here right now, young lady!"


	5. Petunia Dursley

"Of course I'm glad that Lord Voldemort didn't return to power, Hermione, but why on earth did you try to go after him yourself?" Rosemary demanded. "You could have been killed!"

Hermione looked at her mother, red faced, from a corner of the couch. "Well, we told Professor McGonagall, but she didn't believe us. And she was right that it wasn't Professor Snape, but it turned out to be Professor Quirrell, instead. Harry said we had to go stop You Know Who from returning, because if he did return, he'd kill people like us, people with muggle families, I mean. Harry is very brave."

When her daughter explained it like that, it sounded almost logical. Rosemary shook her head.

"Speaking of Harry, I'm going to telephone his aunt. I expect no one thought to tell her what happened, either. Do you have her telephone number?"

"No," said Hermione. "I don't think he gets on very well with the Dursleys."

Rosemary folded her arms. "We'll talk about this more later, after your father gets home," she said.

With a call to directory assistance, she was able to locate the number for a Dursley family in Surrey.

"Dursley residence," said a female voice on the other end.

"Yes, are you Mrs. Petunia Dursley?"

"Yes," said Petunia. "Are you calling about the Ladies' Hospital Benefit Tea?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm Rosemary Granger. I believe my daughter, Hermione, is friends with your nephew, Harry."

There was a pause. "I don't have a nephew called Harry," said Petunia, but there was something unconvincing in her tone. "You must have the wrong number."

"It's all right, Petunia, I know about, you know, magic. Although I'm not magical myself."

"Then you have my condolences," said Petunia, in a sharp voice very different from the pleasant one she'd been putting on before.

"Why is that?" asked Rosemary.

"Because that entire society is nothing but trouble," said Petunia. "My younger sister, Lily, was a witch, muggle born, as you would say. She attended Hogwarts. As soon as she graduated, she joined a vigilante cult called the Order of the Phoenix. She and her husband, Harry's parents, were murdered at the age of twenty-one by a magical terrorist, Lord Voldemort. And they weren't the only ones!"

Rosemary was ashamed that she had forgotten about Harry's family history. She said, "I'm so sorry, Petunia. I've read about your sister, in fact. She is considered something of a hero."

"Yes, a dead hero," said Petunia. "Naturally, my husband and I did not want Harry to attend Hogwarts, so we never told him he was a wizard."

"Oh, dear, didn't you know that's very dangerous? They start doing magic without being able to control it, you know. Weren't you visited by a representative and invited to the muggle parents' night?"

Petunia laughed. "No, we were not. They must have thought it was unnecessary, because I was already familiar with the wizarding world. And yes, Harry did all sorts of nasty accidental magic long before he knew any better, so thankfully that has stopped. Although I still wish he weren't going to that school."

"Why did you end up sending him, then?" asked Rosemary.

"Well, when he turned eleven, the school wrote to us," said Petunia. "When we didn't reply, they kept sending us letters, dozens of them, down the chimney, rolled up in egg cartons, wouldn't take no for an answer. Vernon and I eventually packed up the boys and fled. But they tracked us down. A very large, intimidating man showed up and told us we had to send Harry to Hogwarts, threatened us with violence otherwise. Then, he cast a horrid spell on my son, made him grow a tail like a pig, and abducted Harry!"

"My goodness," was all Rosemary could say.

Petunia's story was so wild that she almost wasn't sure if she believed it. The Dearborns had said that attendance was not compulsory at Hogwarts, and none of the magical people she had met seemed violent. But Petunia sounded genuinely upset. Could the school have done the same to Hermione, if she hadn't agreed to go to Hogwarts on her own? She couldn't imagine what she would do if her daughter were kidnapped like that.

"What I called to tell you, in fact," she continued, "was that Harry was involved in a fight with Lord Voldemort recently, at the school. Lord Voldemort was possessing one of the teachers, and it seems Harry, along with my daughter and another boy, took it upon themselves to stop him from returning. It sounds like it was very dangerous."

"I see," said Petunia. "Then I suppose he is taking after his parents."

It was odd, Petunia didn't seem very upset to hear that her nephew was in danger.

"I must ask," said Rosemary, "my daughter said that you and your husband don't, er, get on very well with Harry. Was he upset that you tried to stop him from going away to school?"

Something in Petunia's voice flattened. "It's true, he's never gotten on very well with us. He isn't our sort. My husband is, well, an old fashioned sort of man, when it comes to child rearing, and when Harry began showing signs of magic ... It was my fault really, I was the one who told Vernon magic was dangerous, but Vernon took that to mean it had to be ... stopped at all costs."

Rosemary breathed in. She understood now. Petunia was a woman of the sort her own mother had been, the sort some of her old school friends had become. Chained to a life, and a house, and a man she pretended to enjoy. Rosemary herself had managed to escape that life, and she knew her Hermione would never grow up to be that sort of woman, but it happened to too many of them. It was horrifying to hear that a man was using force on an innocent child for something he couldn't control. Toward Petunia, though, she mostly felt pity. And a vague plan to alert whatever child services they had in Surrey.

"I don't know what to do about the boy," Petunia confessed. "He's in danger at the school, but he was never happy here, either. Not that I could stop him from going back if I tried. There's something about that world that draws them in. My father tried to talk Lily out of joining the war when she finished school, but she wouldn't have it, climbed out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night. It was like she lived in the twelfth century or something. I remember our old neighbor, Mrs. Snape -- she and her son were magical, too -- she said to my parents that all witches and wizards had to make a choice in their lives, before they come of age. Duels or taxes. She'd chosen taxes. Her son joined the war, too, no idea what happened to him."

"I see," said Rosemary. "I wonder if they are related to Professor Snape, who teaches at the school. Well, I'd better be getting on with the laundry. Nice to speak to you, Petunia."

Rosemary gazed out her kitchen window at Hermione, who was trying to climb to the top of an enormous willow tree in the backyard. Spineless though Petunia was, Rosemary felt she had learned something from their conversation. Some people thought that because she followed the rules and got good marks, Hermione must be a timid girl. But deep down, when Hermione wanted something very much, she was like Lily Potter. She was a very powerful combination of duels AND taxes. And although it killed Rosemary, she knew in her heart which one Hermione would choose, which one she had in fact already chosen.


	6. The Weasleys

Rosemary and Donald sat in the Three Broomsticks with Arthur Weasley, sipping on a delightful beverage called butterbeer.

"I suppose what I'm saying," said Donald, "is that it seems like it would be better for everyone if the muggle and wizarding worlds were joined. Economically, the muggles would gain access to goods and services they desperately need, and wizards would be paid handsomely for providing them. Muggles could also provide a certain amount of engineering brainpower about what to do with magic, as we outnumber you."

Arthur was beaming enthusiastically. "It would be wonderful if that happened," he said. "I have admired muggle engineering for a long time, and if muggles and wizards could mingle freely in society ... But there are risks involved, you see. Even with almost total separation, there are wizards who don't like muggles, and muggles who most likely wouldn't like wizards."

"If you mean the religious crazies, they're in decline these days," said Rosemary.

"After navigating the rough transitional period, I mean," said Donald. "In the long run, it would be a good thing."

Arthur said, "The Separation Question is one of those old debates that comes up at parties now and then, but I don't think it will ever happen. Too risky."

Donald folded his arms. "Arthur, you seem like a nice fellow, and I mean this in the nicest way possible: It will eventually happen whether you want it to or not. I've seen muggle technology, and I've seen wizard technology, and it's only a matter of time. The advances in computers in the past few decades alone have been staggering, and seem to be continuing at an ever faster pace."

"Computers?" asked Arthur. "Those machines you lot use for doing sums?"

"They can do a bit more than that nowadays," said Donald. "They can send letters instantly, anywhere in the world. The military can receive information from satellites in space and show it on a map. Any person who owns a computer can share stories in public message boards on the Internet. Every person in Britain who files taxes has basic information about them stored in a government database: date of birth, occupation, everything. And it's only getting stronger. If I were you, Arthur, I'd shift my efforts from preventing it to preparing for it."

Arthur nodded seriously, but Rosemary could see that they weren't getting through to him. Well, as Donald said, it was an issue that would eventually resolve itself. She just hoped it wasn't too messy when it happened.

They headed back to the bookstore to pick up Hermione's books. One of her new professors was doing a book signing, having assigned half a dozen of his own books. This seemed excessive to Rosemary, but there wasn't much she could do.

And then Arthur got in a fistfight with a racist.

Several feelings flooded Rosemary at once. Fear that this strange man was going to attack them with magic. Affection for Arthur's willingness to defend people he'd just met. Concern about Arthur's impulse control. And bitter anger that the thing they'd been dreading for over a year had finally shown up, in the form of a long-haired dickhead called Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione didn't seem very concerned as they left the wizarding world. "Yes, Draco Malfoy is in our year at school," she said. "He's rather horrid. It makes sense that he gets it from his father."

Donald shot Rosemary a look that said, it's not up to us. But Rosemary kept a tight grip on Hermione's shoulder until they reached the car. It occurred to her that this was irrational. If in fact anything did happen, it would probably be Hermione protecting them.

Life continued as normal. Hermione did not return home for Christmas, which upset Rosemary a bit. She was at least still writing to them regularly. Donald suggested they take a good long family holiday to France in the summer, which would give them plenty of time together.

But in May, something terrible happened.

Minerva McGonagall was a lot graver during this visit.

"I assure you," she said, "Miss Granger will make a full recovery. Once the mandrakes are ready, she will be revived."

"And when will that be?" demanded Donald.

"About three weeks," said Minerva.

"And when were you going to notify the parents," hissed Donald, "that a lethal monster was going about the school putting students into comas?"

Minerva looked down. Rosemary could see how much stress she had been under.

"These things happen in the wizarding world," she explained, wearing the same expression Arthur Weasley had worn the previous summer. "We don't expect our muggle parents to understand."

Rosemary's hands balled up into fists. "Minerva, we may not know the twelve uses of dragon's blood, but we understand life and death. We muggles are not children. If we didn't need you to cure our daughter, we would have her out of that school before you could say 'liability lawsuit'."

She wasn't sure, but she thought she could see, before Minerva turned away, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"I will let you know as soon as her condition changes," she said.

And she was gone as soon as she had come.


	7. Beauxbatons

"Hermione, dear, since we'll be in Toulouse anyway near the end of the trip, would you like to visit Beauxbatons Academy?" asked Donald as they sat among their brochures about France. "I've read that it's quite beautiful."

Hermione looked pleased but also suspicious. "Yes, all right," she said slowly. "It's kind of you to take an interest in my culture."

Things had been tense among the three of them since Hermione had gotten home. After nearly losing her, the last thing Rosemary and Donald wanted was to risk pushing Hermione away. But Hogwarts did not seem safe. Hermione wasn't at all bothered, and had even been telling them she was planning to take extra subjects next year. It was down to them as her parents to be bothered for her. Quietly, they'd purchased a book on other wizard schools. There was a nice one in France, and one in America as well.

There was also the Manticore Society that the Dearborns had mentioned, although that would be a last resort. After two years of magical education, Hermione was probably not at risk of her accidental magic returning, but surely an extracurricular course would not be as good as a full magical education. She'd also missed several years of muggle school. No, Hermione wouldn't be at all happy about ending her magical education, and she might even run away to avoid it. But if they could get her excited about another school ... The photographs of Beauxbatons looked awfully enticing.

The three of them had a lovely holiday in France, filled with historical and artistic marvels. They visited several cathedrals and art museums. Donald was especially interested in the middle ages, so anything with stained glass was for him. Hermione led them into wizarding Paris as well.

"How lucky," she told them, examining a statue of a trussed up woman being engulfed in flames, whom Rosemary had originally taken for Joan of Arc. "I have to write an essay for History of Magic about witch burning."

"Witch burning?" Donald asked. "You mean some of them were really witches, then?"

A look of reassurance came over Hermione's face, a look they'd been seeing on her a lot lately. "Yes, but real witches would just pretend to be burned. They'd either escape with magic, attack their captors with magic, or pretend to get burned while using magic to keep themselves alive. There was a fashionable charm around that time that they used to freeze the flames so they didn't hurt. So it was only muggles who were falsely accused that got killed. Poor things."

Nearby, Donald also spotted a statue of Nicolas Flamel. "Flamel was a wizard, then?"

"Yes, and he really was an alchemist," said Hermione. "He lived to be over six hundred years old. In fact, he just died last year."

Donald smiled. "Well, I'll be. He must have been very wealthy, then."

"I think he avoided turning too much metal into gold at a time," said Hermione. "It would've caused problems and suspicion. But yes, I suppose he had enough money to be getting on with."

"A wise man," said Donald.

After Paris, they journeyed to the mountains and spent several days having picnics, petting goats, listening to local folk music, and just generally having a marvelous time. For the first time since Hermione had started Hogwarts, Rosemary felt like they were a family. She wondered if Hermione would be happy living in France for the remainder of her education. Soon, it was time for their tour of Beauxbatons.

"I had to tell them you were a prospective student in my letter, so they'd give us a tour," said Rosemary. "So try to look eleven."

Hermione frowned. As a little girl, she had always detested white lies, but recently she had been growing a bit more relaxed and mature.

"All right, then," she said finally.

As they approached the grounds, they spotted several inhuman looking women darting around the woods, playing on rough wooden flutes, wearing almost nothing except for a few leaves and strands of acorns.

"Good lord," said Donald, averting his eyes from their nudity.

"Those must be wood nymphs," said Hermione.

The three of them gave each other a look that they'd been exchanging often over the course of their holiday, a look that plainly said: what can you expect from the French?

Next, they passed a simply enormous stable building, where a number of men were feeding similarly enormous winged Palomino horses.

"Are they pouring bottles of whiskey into that horse trough?" asked Donald, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"It would appear so," said Rosemary.

"But mum, horses can't drink alcohol," said Hermione, puzzled. "They'd get, well, drunk."

The 'French' look was shared a second time.

A very large woman met them at the gates. "Hello," she said in a thick French accent. "I am Madame Maxime. And this is Elle. She is a sixth year student staying here over the summer to study the forest creatures, and she has agreed to give you a tour. Elle, this is Hermione Granger."

"Hello," said Elle, leading them into a beautiful chateau. "You are English?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"But you do not wish to attend Hogwarts?" asked Elle.

"We're keeping our options open," said Rosemary.

"You are muggles," said Elle, examining their clothing.

"Yes," said Donald. "Is that all right?"

"Oh, yes, we do not mind the muggles," said Elle. "It is not your fault. Hermione, you will be very happy at Beauxbatons Academy. It is the best school by far."

"It's very pretty," said Hermione politely.

"Is it quite safe here?" asked Donald. "Do you have proper supervision while handling the forest animals?"

Elle frowned. "We are very independent here at Beauxbatons. The creatures master trusts me to complete my project without interference. I am very talented with the dragon nymphs."

Rosemary glanced down at the hem of her skirt. "Dear, you've been burned!" she cried.

"Oh, this is nothing," said Elle. "One cannot study magic without some risk. My younger brother once had his entire hand bitten off by a bowtruckle and still finished his examination on time!"

Rosemary gave Donald's hand a squeeze. Without saying so directly, they could both see that it would be better if they never told Hermione they'd been thinking about transferring her to Beauxbatons. It seemed that some problems were the same the world over.


	8. You-Know-Who

Next summer, Lord Voldemort returned.

The Grangers sat in the Dearborns' living room with half a dozen other families.

"There is nothing to worry about!" said Maureen Dearborn. "The Daily Prophet has officially denied that Lord Voldemort has returned. It's very sad about the Diggory boy, of course, but the rest was all a mistake. That mad man, Barty Crouch, Jr., put a spell on Harry Potter to make him see things. It's all here in the article."

"If Harry says that You-Know-Who is back, then he is!" insisted young Colin Creevey. "He's much too powerful to be confunded."

"You-Know-Who or not, I've had just about enough of Hogwarts," said Deborah Finch-Fletchley. "Every year there's some dangerous nonsense, former Death Eaters and dark creatures running around like they own the place. Why, my son Justin was petrified for months, and they never notified us! He could have gone to Eton, you know. We'll have to hire a private tutor to get him caught up on schooling before he can take his O-levels, but it'll be well worth it."

"The Manticore Society is still offering weekend lessons." John Dearborn offered, handing him a leaflet.

"These thing happen to young witches and wizards," Maureen protested.

Deborah nodded her head at Jessica Dearborn, who was sitting on the bottom step with the cat in her lap. "Dear, you attend a muggle school, don't you? How many of your classmates have faced death recently?"

"A boy in my class had leukemia last year, but he's in remission now," she said.

"You see, the muggle world is dangerous, too," said Maureen.

"Oh, wizards don't die of cancer?" asked Deborah.

"They don't actually, because we have a potion for that," put in Chloe Dearborn. "For that matter, the muggle world also has war."

"You lot have a cure for cancer, and you haven't shared it?" exclaimed Harold Creevey.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it regarding their potions," replied Donald.

"Everyone, please!" shouted Hermione, standing up on the coffee table.

The room fell silent.

"Right," she said. "I know Harry Potter very well. If he says that You-Know-Who is alive, then he's alive. What we need to decide is what to do about it."

"We have to fight him, of course!" shouted Colin. "Just like last time! Chloe's right, we have war, too. It's like with the Nazis, everyone had to be brave and fight them. You lot probably would have run and hid in your bomb shelters."

Colin's father put a hand on his shoulder. "Look here, lad, your grandfather died fighting the Nazis, but you're a child. You older Dearborns, you'll have to decide for yourselves if you want to join the army, but keep my sons out of it. If it's still going on when they're eighteen, then we'll have to have a chat about it then."

"Seventeen, actually, we come of age at seventeen in the wizarding world," John pointed out.

Rosemary put her face in her hands. Hermione was nearly sixteen now. And if Lord Voldemort went after her friend Harry, she probably wouldn't let her age stop her.

"No one's saying the children ought to join any army, and for the record, wizards don't even have our own army," said Chloe. "They're safer at school than out of it. The school's protected by all sorts of wards and runes."

"What about Cedric Diggory?" asked Deborah.

"Cedric Diggory died in the Triwizard Tournament, which is only open to wizards who are of age, and in any case doesn't happen very often," said Lucy Dearborn. "I didn't sign up for it because it didn't seem worth the risk. It's horrible that Cedric died, but he knew what he was getting into."

She shrugged. "If I were Harry Potter's aunt, I might keep him home, but me, I'm going back for my seventh year. I trust Dumbledore."

"Me, too!" Colin announced.

"Me, three!" said his younger brother.

"And me," said Hermione. "I know all of you parents here love us, but you don't understand. This is our world now. And you might be a bit more grateful, because it's you we're trying to protect. If You-Know-Who takes over, there isn't going to be any wizarding world and muggle world. He wants to come out of hiding and enslave the lot of you. So if it's all the same, I'm going back. For the people I love."

She sat down next to Rosemary, who didn't know how to feel.


	9. Knitting and Boys

The night before she left to go visit her friends, Hermione asked Rosemary to teach her to knit. Rosemary was rather touched. She supposed even witches got cold sometimes.

Hermione then explained about the house elves. She felt a streak of pride, knowing that her daughter has inherited their desire to help the downtrodden, but she was not sure she understood this particular cause.

"So it sounds like this Dobby fellow ... he escaped from his master, and now he's wearing clothes and receiving a salary from the school?"

"Yes. That's what gave me the idea," said Hermione. "Now I just need to free all the other ones at Hogwarts."

"But the other elf, Winky ... she came to the school after her master dismissed her, and she refused a salary," said Rosemary, trying to puzzle it all out. "And she also has clothes, but she doesn't like them."

"Well, yes, she thinks it's embarrassing to want to be paid," explained Hermione. "She didn't want to leave Mr. Crouch, even though he was horrible. The elves have been oppressed for so long that they've internalized it. That's why I must help free them."

"But then, giving them clothes wouldn't really help, would it?" Rosemary pointed out. "None of the Hogwarts elves are being held against their will in the first place. They're essentially volunteers. If they pick up one of these hats, they'll still probably feel the same way about their jobs and salaries, and continue doing what they're doing."

Hermione frowned. "They'd be free, though, and then they'd have to be paid. It's a symbolic thing, but it's legally binding, and it's very real to them."

"But Winky has clothes, and it sounds like she isn't any different from the others," Rosemary said, trying to understand.

She thought back to her work in the feminist movement in the 1970s, women being screamed at by other women for wanting to be housewives. For some reason, these elves seemed to care most of all about the ability to choose their masters, more so than about money or leisure time. "It sounds like what these elves really need is a choice."

"Yes. These clothes will give them a choice," said Hermione, undaunted.

"It sounds like they remove the choice. Hermione, these elves are adults, and they come from a different culture than yours. Oughtn't you concentrate your efforts on the ones like Dobby, who are stuck and want help?" she asked.

"No, they all must be freed. And I can't do anything about the ones being held at manors, so I'm concentrating on the Hogwarts elves first." She looked down at her wobbly bit of hat. "This is going to take forever. I'd better ask Mrs. Weasley to teach me how to knit by magic when I get there. She knits all of her children lovely warm sweaters every year."

Rosemary felt a pang of hurt.

"By the way," she asked, trying to steer the conversation somewhere else, "who is Viktor, and why are you writing him so many long letters?"

Hermione blushed. "He was an exchange student last year. He's very nice, and he plays Quidditch for Bulgaria. But he's so humble about it, you'd never know, really shy and disciplined. He wanted me to visit him this summer, but I have too much going on."

"He's a professional athlete? How old is he?" she asked, alarmed.

"Er ... eighteen," she admitted.

Rosemary folded her arms. This she understood perfectly well, whatever the consent laws were in the wizarding world.

"It's nothing like that!" Hermione insisted. "He just took me to the Yule Ball. We barely snogged. And I doubt I'll see him anymore now the year's over. But he's nice to write to, so much more mature than anyone else I know."

Rosemary frowned. There'd been a school dance, and she hadn't even mentioned it in her letters? Her daughter was gadding about with 'mature' adult men? Not that she wanted to restrict anybody's sexuality, but really.

"All the same, if you're old enough to be dating Quidditch stars, I think we'd better have a talk about safe sex."

Hermione blushed. "Mrs. Weasley gave me a potion last summer," she said defensively. "Not that I ever have any intention of using it before I'm grown up."

Rosemary wasn't sure if she'd trust a potion, for something as important as this. Did they expire? Would Hermione know how to use it? Maybe she'd better start up a correspondence with Molly Weasley herself.

"Fine then," Rosemary said, sighing. "I just ... a young girl should tell her mother these things, dear. Muggle or witch."

Hermione nodded, contrite. "Well, I'm telling you now," she said. But she seemed to get the message.

A few weeks later, Hermione sent them a letter saying she'd been made a prefect. Well, at least that was easy enough to understand. They wrote back saying they were very proud. Whatever else she was now, Hermione was obviously a good role model.

The letters were few and far between during the school year. Hermione had loads of work during OWL year, she said, and a bit of trouble with a nasty teacher. The elves didn't like her hats. She and Harry started some sort of club.

But Rosemary wondered what she wasn't being told.


End file.
